I'd like to speak on our good friend, the Wicked Witch of the West,
And how she could not touch water without melting into a mess.
She didn't scrub, 'cause if she did, she'd drip into the sink.
She was missing half her tongue from the last time she had a drink.
She couldn't brush her teeth and wouldn't wash her hair.
Hard to decide, between her evil and hygiene, which was the bigger scare.
She couldn't swallow after salty food, her thirst never satiated.
She didn't exercise since she could not be re-hydrated.
I visited the local pool one day and found the waters dim,
Because that was where the Witch took her first (and final) swim.
Poem: Wicked Witch Eulogy
